Take Your Time
by Mug of Doodles
Summary: Mo meets MacCoy in the used bookstore, crap happens.


**Half-assed ending is half-assed. Thanks to Lynn for drawing me fluff to cheer me up; that amazing doodle inspired the abrupt ending.**

"Need some help?"

Mo turned to the source of the voice, his eyes still focused on the spine of the book in his hands, "Yea, actually..." His eyebrows furrowed from his frustration as his gaze wandered up to make eye contact with the employee offering him assistance. Words stopped in his throat and he choked out, "I forgot."  
The blond casually facing him with a hand on his hip chuckled lightly. "Jus' now or as soon as ya walked in?"  
Heat traveled across his jawline and peaked at the tips of his ears as he smiled sheepishly at the other male who bore a nametag reading 'MacCoy'.Figuring he could regain his composure if jumped headfirst into a conversation with no way of looking back he held up the book and waved it. "I'm kinda lookin' fer a book—" His sentence stopped short there when he noticed the other male shifting too often and idly scratching at the crooks of his arms.

"Are ya cool, man? MacCoy?"  
"Yea, whatever, so yer lookin' fer a book?"

His curt replies and change in attitude caught him off-guard but he continued anyways, not really sure what he was looking for to begin with. "I need somethin' fer school, like a project but everythin' here isn't really my thing since I don't read much."  
MacCoy stepped closer, grazing Mo's shoulder as he reached his arm out to pull a book from the shelf directly behind him. It was a book selected at random, one he'd already read, already in sight and plus it looked cool plucking it from a spot like he knew what he was doing.  
"Here, it's kinda dark but I think you'd dig it."

Muttering a 'thank you', he rifled through the first few pages and the smell of musty paper wafted up. The scent calmed him, oddly enough, and just enough to ask the boy if he had anything to do after work—to which he replied 'sleeping'.  
When Mo walked into his apartment, he flung his bag from his shoulder apathetic about where it landed and set to work reading his newly purchased literature. The first few pages confused him but by the fourth he was captivated by the tiny print—something he hadn't felt in years since reading 'Hank the Cowdog' as a child.

By the time he glanced at the clock the only sounds around him were the ticking of the hand and the occasional car passing by on the road beneath him. He hadn't realized how late it was, or early , but when he buried himself in his covers the only thing he could think about was the blond he met earlier in the day.  
It didn't take long for him to finish reading the book, partly because he actually enjoyed it but mostly because he figured he could make another trip to the used bookstore. When noon rolled around he stopped by the destination buzzing around in his head for the past week—he wouldve gone sooner but since today was his day off he had more errands than usual (ones that he allowed to pile up from his current text hunger). The blond he met wasn't working today, it'd be weird to ask for his address, but he learned that he wasn't working any day this week.  
He became well-acquainted with the other employees however, even the owner to his surprise—who he learned was MacCoy's grandmother. She wouldn't give him any information other than him being 'sick' while she emphasized the word with air quotations. Maybe that explained why he could miss so much work without being fired.

College life was calling him back soon so he spent a majority of his time off from work typing up his essay and playing flash games in a corner he claimed, frequently glancing around for a head of gold.  
MacCoy returned two days after Mo started the last semester back up, and while Mo visited this place because it smelled and looked cleaner than his apartment (he thought MacCoy just up and left because his grandmother wasn't all too surprised at his absence), he was still elated when the blond sat in the chair across the table from him. Before Mo could let out a smooth line MacCoy chipped in and the tone of his voice wasn't too pleasant.  
"The fuck do ya want? Do I owe ya somethin'? Yer creepin' my Grammaw out, she says there's some guy who won't quit askin' fer me and if I owe ya anythin'—sex, drugs, money, leave her outta it!" He emphasized his point by speaking with his hands, counting his list out on his fingers.

Slowly closing his computer, carefully thinking over his words, Mo smiled. "I jus' wanted a date but sex is cool too."  
"I think the mold in this place finally got ta ya. Ya don't wanna date a guy like me, I'm damaged goods."  
Mo chuckled, "I doubt that. C'mon jus' one."

_'Just one'_ turned into two, then three dates. They hadn't shared a first kiss yet and whenever Mo leaned in for one MacCoy would abscond from the situation, directing Mo's attention from anything but spent as much time as possible, he still had responsibilities despite being utterly thrilled, with MacCoy. Granted they only ever made small-talk and MacCoy seemed more enthusiastic about learning about Mo than dishing out information about himself, Mo enjoyed his company regardless.

He lov—liked the way his eyes lit up so Mo could see how bright of a blue they were even behind the goggles and how excited he could be over the simplest things. He simply liked the blond overall.  
He was disappointed to a certain extent though because MacCoy was too secretive and reluctant to talk about himself, he hardly knew about the goggled he did come to know something about MacCoy the source of information was his Grammaw who, after a long conversation about how fragile her grandson was, began to warm up to Mo. The prankster was confused by what she had to say but that was probably due to her speaking in riddles and refusing to clarify anything she said.

He made the mistake of asking MacCoy what exactly his problems were. Maybe he shouldn't have been so blunt about it but he wanted to know about his, well he wasn't sure he could call him that, but he wanted to know more about his boyfriend.  
"So you're impatient? I told ya I wasn't ready for this, wasn't ready for a relationship, and definitely not ready to tell you anything." MacCoy was livid. He paced around his bedroom, wringing his hands and when he wasn't his hands found a way to tug on his unkept hair.

"That's not it. I jus' wanna know more 'bout ya cuz it's like the only thing I know ya do is sleep and eat."  
"Cuz that's all I do, Mo!" He finally turned to face Mo, breathing harshly, and that's when Mo noticed the pink, swollen bags under his eyes. Perhaps they had always been there but without his goggles the blond's face was exposed to scrutiny.

Mo cornered him, his longer legs taking huge strides towards the blond before he could turn around. His hands rested on MacCoy's shoulders and while the geek flinched Mo rubbed soothing circles with his thumbs. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have pushed ya, I jus' really, _really_ like ya, 'Coy."

MacCoy smiled, "_Wow_, okay."

That was the first time he saw MacCoy genuinely smile, one that wasn't the result of a courtesy laugh or small tug of the lips. The smile was contagious and Mo wasn't immune to the effects so he let a broad one creep across his face before he unconsciously pressed a chaste kiss between 'Coy's eyes.  
MacCoy let a quiet breath loose before running his fingertips alongside Mo's jawline, knuckles brushing against the fabric of his favorite hoodie (_his _favorite, because it was the one Mo always wore). Mo looked surprised but the sometimes-DJ enjoyed that brief expression before he leaned up and into Mo for a soft kiss. Mo was more than welcoming and pulled the blond closer by the hips. Their kiss ended too soon and Mo was left blindly following MacCoy's mouth when he pulled back after a light nip.

MacCoy slept over that night but they spent the entire evening watching movies. Mo shared his favorites, which consisted of action and kung-fu types. MacCoy's taste in movies, well, they were more like controversial documentaries than anything and they would almost bored Mo to death if it weren't for the blond curling into him. A freckled arm was thrown across his torso, fingertips occasionally running across his ribs and causing him to squirm. In return he buried his hand in messy blond hair—messy because 'Coy was a bit more eager for physical contact since Mo's awkward confession.

"Babe."

"Yo."

Still no answer.

Then he figured the other clocked out on him, leaving him to watch this dreadful movie alone. He was thankful in a way because he really didn't give a shit about school reform or politics and needed to work early in the morning. He sidled out of MacCoy's loose grip, letting him take the couch for the night. He clicked a lamp on, gathered a blanket for MacCoy, but stilled when he spotted markings on his wrist and crooks of his arm.  
He traced the short scars where MacCoy's wristband usually resided and the mark was a faint pink. The marks in his arms were something akin to holes that he usually would've mistaken for freckles. His guts churned and he swallowed what felt like a lump of hair.

He wanted to talk about this now but MacCoy looked like he hadn't slept in ages.

The geek looked so happy he was even grinning that goofy grin that only ever came out on rare occasions, usually when he was shy about suggesting something fun they should do together like read comics or dance like idiots to their own beats. Mo knew he'd lose sleep over this, letting a problem like this go, but, wow, he finally looked happy. He thumbed his boyfriend's(?)(could he call him that yet?) goggles before taking them off and gently setting them on the arm of the couch. His lips touched the blond's forehead, nose, but hesitated at his mouth. Gathering the courage to do so, his lips gently touched soft, pink ones before pulling away and thinking that he might love this guy.

He _might_ love the guy he only knew for a couple months. He might _love _the guy he barely knew anything about, he _might_ love the guy who doesn't love him back and does have so many problems—problems he knows he can't handle but lied to the both of them for a chance at happiness.  
Mo never dwelled on what exactly those problems could be but somewhere he always knew he never wanted to admit MacCoy had them.  
But he couldnt wake him up.

Things were okay at first, but now they were more than okay—life was perfect, if Mo didn't count the student loans and utility bills that were piling up. The stress showed on his face and in the tense areas of his muscles, the ones MacCoy worked the kinks out of while providing sexual tension. Mo was slow to release it and when the opportunity arose Mo was a bit more than apprehensive.  
Pale hands massaged his legs, before they dipped down—leading MacCoy's body to follow suit. Blue eyes peered up at Mo, who adjusted his reading glasses and pretended to shuffle papers around to quell his anxiety and surprise.  
"How 'bout some Kool-aid? Kool-aid. Jus' Kool-aid."  
"I got a better idea."

Mo made a noise that was supposed to come out as a disagreement but somehow lodged itself in his throat. His mind told him to say no but his body wasn't too keen on the idea of letting a chance like this go to waste. It wasn't that he didn't think about it because he did, probably more than he thought he should, but a dirty feeling nagged at the back of his mind telling him that MacCoy only wanted to do this due to pressure.  
"No, MacCoy. Ya ain't gotta do this, really."  
"I know. I ain't gotta do nothin'," he answered back defiantly before he whispered, "but I wanna cuz I really, really like ya."

Despite his 'protests' the tagger's legs widened more, to which the blond grinned knowingly. He nuzzled his inner thigh, hugging his knees.  
"I jus' wanna thank ya fer savin' me and makin' me feel loved."  
Mo resisted telling him that he did love him, he truly felt he did, but when was the right moment? Settling for threading his fingers through his hair, he pulled MacCoy up and into a kiss that, _okay_, kind of hurt his spine but he was perfectly okay with that because MacCoy was drawing patterns on his bound erection, teasing him about how good he was about to make him feel.

When Mo caught his breath and MacCoy finally stood to kiss him Mo's brain turned to mush and all his inhibitions were cut loose.  
"I love you," he sputtered out quickly, he hoped it was fast enough to just barely reach MacCoy's ears.

MacCoy did hear him and he almost wished he hadn't.

The only reason he didn't reply with an 'okay' was the sincerity he was positive existed in Mo's words. The sound that followed was that of MacCoy unzipping his jacket, slowly shaking it off. He was still self-conscious about his body and what Mo would think about it but he felt so good and confident in this moment that nothing mattered anymore. Splaying his hands across his chest, MacCoy let out a soft sigh, running the tips of his fingers down his body from his collarbone, nails raking a sensitive nipple.

"Show me."

Mo intended to but his body couldn't move from the chair and his eyes transfixed themselves on the freckle dusted body. MacCoy was more defined than he was and forget about air because all Mo needed was to touch him right now. Baby blues were watching Mo carefully, watching him gnaw at this lip and squeeze the back of his chair, before he decided to give him one last nudge in the direction he wanted him to head into. Gripping himself through his sweatpants, he moaned out his boyfriend's name. It curled out as a question.  
Mo answered by swiftly standing and pulling him closer; his hands bringing their hungry mouths together. The blond answered with a gasp and Mo explored his mouth, desperate and willing to prove himself. Pulling apart for breath, he lifted 'Coy's chin up, "I _love you_. I mean it. I know I prolly _shouldn't_ but I do."

Baby blues observed usually amber eyes with pupils blown so wide that the color morphed into a dark, rich brown. MacCoy wanted him and he knew what Mo wanted; thats when everything finally hit him. Mo wanted him, not only anything entailing his body (though Mo did crave it and this brought a smile to the blond's lips), and having this information made him think he maybe loved him back. He came into this relationship not expecting anything other than sex occasionally, maybe more than occasionally, and here he was feeling something he hadn't felt in so long. Mo's lips brought him out of his thoughts and he let out a submitting sigh.

Soaked in each other's sweat and euphoria, the couple relaxed in their afterglow—at least Mo did. MacCoy wouldn't stop talking about anything and everything about Mo and a couple childhood memories. Mo's eyes were closed, making it harder for him not to nod off, but random giggles from MacCoy and the feeling of his voice reverberating through his chest kept Mo awake for the time being.  
MacCoy's breath and hair tickled his chest along with the fingers toying with his hips and Mo laughed, embarrassing himself a bit and grabbing 'Coy's wrist, attached to the hand tickling him. A memory broke through his fog of happiness and he brushed his lips against the scars, squeezing MacCoy's hand when the other tried to pull away and brought the blond in closer.

"Now really the best time?" MacCoy asked lowly. He turned his wrists downwards, away from Mo's point view.  
Mo wanted to say that, yes, it was because he genuinely cares for MacCoy and so many things wandered through his mind like, how often does this happen? Is MacCoy unhappy with me? How close has he been to dying? Why won't he let me know? But the African-American understood that level of privacy he would be breaching and it wouldn't be fair to MacCoy to expect information from him like that, but...

Mo let his arm slip off the other and sat up, leaving a now disgruntled toprocker complaining in the sheets about a multitude of problems.  
"I got scars too."

"I noticed but I didn't ask about them," MacCoy bit back.  
"They're not from me," Mo stated matter-of-factly.

MacCoy laughed, "Fuckin' figured this would happen."  
"What that someone would actually care about you?" Mo snapped, skin flushed from exhaustion but now anger.

He watched MacCoy avert his eyes to his sheet-covered knees and shrug noncommittally. There was a horrible silence and Mo constantly felt like he should speak but at the same time felt that if he did the blond would leave.  
So he waited until MacCoy cleared his throat. "Can we limit this," he waved his hand, "_thing_ to just sex?"  
Mo stared at him unbelievably slack-jawed and humiliated. "'Scuse me?"

"You heard me."

"I can't do that. No, MacCoy." Mo hated the tone of his voice, it sounded weak and sorry. His stomach felt like it was churning nails. "If this is 'bout the scar thing we can jus' drop it." He was pleading now and he felt pathetic.  
In retrospect maybe he was wrong and asking too much of the goggled male. He didn't need to know every aspect of his past life, did he?

MacCoy's face twisted into a flurry of pity and pain, "Ya can't jus' forget things like this, that's all there is to us. We can _fuck_ then _pretend_ our lives are okay but they really aren't."  
"Well, shit!"  
MacCoy jumped at the sudden fluctuation in volume, gaping at Mo's look of desperation.

"One thing, Jus' one." Mo pleaded.  
MacCoy sighed, stretching it out into an obnoxious groan. "Aight, fine. I don't see what I could lose cuz ya ain't leavin' me."  
"No. I'm not."

Licking his lips, he studied Mo and the couple sat there in the heavy silence before MacCoy laid back onto the bed with Mo scooting closer to lay next to him. An arm wrapped loosely around MacCoy's exposed middle while blond hair tickled the arm curled behind them. Mo's nose nuzzled his cheek after a failed attempt to kiss his ear; the blond smiled blissfully and relaxed into the skater.

"Take your time."


End file.
